A Sacred Hell
by Saucery
Summary: A series of inter-connected vignettes, each approximately 1000 words, tracing Ciel's life as a prostitute, and, later, as a demon's pet. Takes place in an alternate universe, where Sebastian is - shall we say - somewhat delayed in rescuing Ciel. SLASH.


The fires of hell are surrounded by what we desire.

- Maulana Rumi.

* * *

><p><strong>A SACRED HELL<strong>

**- Part I -**

**_Fathers, Brothers_  
><strong>

* * *

><p>He was on the bed, artfully manacled, when the door swung open - soundlessly, sweetly, because it was as well-oiled as he was. Ciel reflected, wryly, that there wasn't a single object in this house that wasn't flawlessly submissive. Well, except for that single stair in the upper storey, that hadn't yet been repaired; it groaned in complaint whenever a foot stepped upon it. More human than Ciel was, at this moment. More honest.<p>

"Why, hello, little dove," said the man who closed the door behind him, his eyes bright and avid. "Poor thing - have they clipped your wings already?"

_Alfred Lundqvist_, Ciel's mind supplied, flashing immediately to the mental file he kept on this client, as he did on all his clients. _Forty-six; married; one daughter of fourteen years old, for whom incestuous affections are very likely harbored, and for whom I am the surrogate. The relatively safer catharsis. A middling banker, of no great fortune or social status. Destined for the pyre, once I'm done with him_. He lowered his eyes, as if afraid. _I'll watch you burn_.

"Oh, come now. Still don't trust me?" The mattress sank as Mr. Lundqvist sat down on it, reaching out to touch to touch Ciel's ankle - but, Ciel noted, not to unchain it. "I've never hurt you, have I?"

"No, master," Ciel whispered, shakily, his voice the pitch-perfect tone of terrified near-virgin that so enchanted Mr. Lundqvist. Indeed, given the way the man _sighed_, and shifted, Ciel would wager that his client was already hard.

"Perfect," murmured Lundqvist, as his hand - pen-callused, gentle - came up to cup Ciel's face. "But I told you to call me 'Papa', didn't I?"

"Papa," said Ciel, letting his lips part on the last 'a' and _stay _parted. Lundqvist's thumb slid, immediately and obediently, in-between.

Truly, there was nothing in this house that was not flawlessly obedient.

Ciel ensured that it was.

* * *

><p>Three hours later and damp from his bath - his own come always took a lot longer to wash off - he was back in the dorm with the boys, only a few of whom were actually asleep.<p>

"If it ain't Miss Perfect," said Anthony, or 'Anton', who'd been purchased from an American whorehouse. Ciel couldn't fathom why; maybe some clients _liked_ abject idiocy. "Get your pussy licked nice and wet?"

Ciel ignored him - heading to his own pallet and settling upon it, cross-legged, as he toweled his hair.

"You ignoring me?" demanded Anton. "Just 'cause everyone wants you, you think - hey, you ignoring me?"

_Yes, I'm ignoring you. Dolt_.

"Just 'cause - "

"Shut the sod up, Ant." That was Kane, one of the younger children, but also - incidentally - one of the smarter ones. He preferred playing mock-chess with Ciel, during their hours off, than he did playing the strange, vicious games of knockabout that often took place here, as a prelude to unauthorized and strictly punishable buggery. Well, it was either that or crying uselessly in a corner, and no one ever did _that_ for long. "You sound stupid."

"But - the way he - he's such a little whore!"

Kane actually laughed. "And so are _you_, genius. Shut up and go to fucking sleep - and maybe tomorrow, one of your clients will be so nice as to lick _your_ cunt. But you aren't pretty enough for that, are you?"

Anton growled. And would've launched himself at Kane, most likely, if the Dorm Brother hadn't reached up and grabbed his collar, shoving him back onto his pallet.

"Sit," he said, succinctly, as if Anton were a dog. His name was Tristan, and he was the oldest among them: only a few months away from being promoted to the Senior Dorm. And from there, only a few years away from freedom. _Only_. How many of them lived that long? How many of them _wanted_ to?

"Thank you, Dorm Brother," said Ciel, not bothering to sound grateful; it wasn't as though he couldn't have beaten Anton in a fight, and bruises tended to take him out of circulation for a few days.

Tristan looked back at him, blandly, as if he knew exactly what Ciel was thinking.

Anton struggled a moment more, cursing indignantly and trying to stand, but Tristan kept a hold of his collar and didn't let go.

"_Sit_," said Tristan, again. His very inflection promised punishment.

Anton sat. With a glower.

"And you," Tristan continued, nodding at Ciel. "Rich-boy. Try that again, and I'll report you, instead."

"Try what again?" Kane broke in, all righteous bluster.

Tristan only _looked_ at him, just as he'd looked at Ciel.

Kane muttered, "shit." And crawled over to Ciel's pallet. "Oi," he said, lowly, "was it one of _those_?" He didn't have to clarify what he meant: one of 'those', clients that insisted their whores had orgasms, too. "You always try to get yourself beat up after that."

"I don't know what you mean," Ciel said, neatly folding his towel. His scalp prickled. His hair was still slightly damp, and was probably sticking up at odd angles. Once, his mother had - no. _No_.

"Bloody hell, man. Don't fucking pretend. If you rag Anton back, he leaves off, eventually. What the fuck were you trying to do? Tristan almost - "

"But he didn't," interrupted Ciel. "Because I'm just that good."

Kane stared at him. "You know," he said, after a pause, "I could almost hate you, like Anton and half the boys in here. But then I wouldn't have anyone to play chess with."

"If you can call it chess," said Ciel, "without actual chess-pieces."

"Oi, those buttons are fine."

"And the hair-pin," Ciel added.

"And the cufflink," said Kane. "I still think the old door-knob would be a better king, damn it. It's just mad, that the rook's bigger than the king is."

"The king's the weakest piece on the board."

"But he calls the end," retorted Kane. "So he's the strongest."

"That's ridiculous. It's like saying that the moment of death is more important than an entire life."

"Isn't it?"

"No," Ciel said, glad he hadn't gotten into a fight with Anton, after all. He still had work to do. Vengeance to extract. "It's not."

* * *

><p><strong>to be continued.<strong>

More likely to be continued at the Archive of Our Own, due to ratings restrictions.

See my profile for the link.


End file.
